


A Confusion of Princes

by clarityhiding



Series: Conspiracies & Couriers [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (briefly in the most general of senses), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Amnesia, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Identity Porn, JayTim Week 2018, Kid Fic, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000, caroline hill - Freeform, space people having space adventures in spaceships in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Nearly an entire year has passed sinceRedwingleft Themyscira so its new co-pilot could receive his field training. So far, Tim hasn't found it all that bad, being married to his CO and mentor. Until, of course, it is.Or: The JayTim space opera with amnesia, identity porn, and Danger with a capital D!





	A Confusion of Princes

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of JayTim Week is a free day, so I combined two of my favorite tropes (amnesia and SPACE) and wrote a sequel to my space (soap) opera!
> 
> Many, many thanks to Nykyrianne for being the most amazing of betas, going above and beyond all my expectations with her proofing, input, and rigorous continuity checks. I think she came up with the title, and she's definitely responsible for Steph's daughter's middle name. Any remaining errors/discrepancies are all my own.

The shot from the blaster just barely misses him as he dodges at the last minute. Blaster fire can't hurt him much, but he likes this jacket and he'd rather not have to replace it.

"Too close," his partner calls over.

"Screw you," Tim cheerfully replies, pivoting out of the way of another blast and quite literally returning fire. The plume is nearly five meters long, a new personal best. It still stops nearly a meter short of their attackers, but it does as intended and causes them to turn tail and run. No one likes to tangle with a fire-breather if they can help it. "Hey," he says, suddenly noticing how quiet the corridor is aside from their shared heavy breathing. Normally, Jason would've replied with a quip of his own by now, and it's odd that he hasn't. "You okay? Hood?"

When he turns, he sees Red Hood leaning against the wall, free hand braced against the plasteel to steady himself. Sparks fly from a deep gouge in Hood's helmet, the result of the earlier blaster shot Tim so handily dodged. "…don't…hurts…can't…" comes over the helmet's speakers, fuzzy and indistinct. " _Fuck._ "

"I've got you, sweetheart," Tim says, rushing over and pulling the arm with Hood's weapon over his shoulder. "Do you think you can make it to the ship or should we take the helmet off now?"

"…make…" is the only response he gets, which isn't helpful in the least, since he has no idea which words he's missing. But Jason also starts for the ship without touching the emergency release on the helmet's torque, so Tim's going to guess they're good to go.

They stumble onto _Redwing_ and Tim immediately sets to getting the launch sequence started with one hand while he pulls off his mask with the other, being careful not to take the wig with it. He wants to focus on Jason, wants to make sure the helmet took the brunt of the damage like it's supposed to. But they pissed off some powerful people here and fire-breathers are just as vulnerable to missiles as the next human. Time to get while the getting is good.

They're nearly out of the atmosphere when Jason stumbles into the cockpit, the still-sparking torque in his hands. "How're you feeling?" Tim asks, spinning in the copilot's seat so he can face him head on.

"Alright," Jason says, frowning. "The helmet needs repairs and the electrical singed me a little, but other than that I'm fine."

"Uh huh, sure. Just like you were 'fine' after tangling with that Zebraxian death vine last month." Pushing up out of his seat, Tim walks over to him, the heels of his boots clicking against the polished floor. "C'mon, off with the mask. I want to make sure your pupils are tracking right."

Jason takes a step back as Tim approaches, his frown deepening. "Yeah, I don't think so. Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing on my ship?"

"Ha ha, very funny." Except for how it isn't funny at all, not with how Jason's entire body screams that he doesn't trust Tim, has no idea who he is. "Look, it's me, your—" He hesitates, recalling his current get-up. Depending on how much Jason remembers, he won't understand the need for costumes and false identities, and any explanation Tim tries to give is more likely to lose trust than gain it. "Your spouse," he finishes.

"I'm not married. Not anymore, not since Arsenal," Jason says, and okay, good. That tells Tim that Jason remembers Roy, at least, so that's, what—three years ago? Four?

"You got remarried a little while back. We're very happy together."

"I don't…" Jason shakes his head, grimaces, and reaches out to steady himself against the hull of the ship.

"Like you said, your helmet got damaged by blaster fire just now. I think it might've zapped your brain a bit in addition to singeing you." Hands raised and palms turned outward, Tim takes a step towards him. " _Please_ take off the mask. I'm really worried about you."

Instead of being relaxed by his non-hostile gestures, Jason raises his blaster so it's level with Tim's chest. "Like fuck I'm going to do that. I have no clue who you are, lady. I'm not about to spill all my secrets that easily."

Tim sighs. "You mean all the secrets I already know because you told me them? Your name is Jason Todd, you grew up on the streets of Gotham's capital city, you died on Med Station Ixchel when you went looking for your bio mom, you came back because you have Lazarus Syndrome, your moms are going to kill me when they find out I let you get hurt like this—"

"My moms are _dead_ ," Jason snaps. "Both Catherine and Sheila. So don't go talking about shit you know nothing about."

"Not _them_. Your other moms, Kate and…" Tim trails off, staring at the look of cluelessness on Jason's face. It doesn't make any sense. If Jason remembers Roy, remembers Sheila—he should remember Kate and Renee, even if he doesn't have a clue who Tim is. Not remembering them, not remembering his connection to the Red Throne and all the rest of it, there's no chance Jason can possibly remember who or what he actually is. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" 

"I keep trying to tell you that." Reaching up, Jason peels off the mask and pockets it. "I don't know how you know who I am, but you better start talking before I kick you out an airlock. Don't need any deadweight slowing down _Outlaw_."

"I told you. I'm your wife, Caroline. I won you and the ship in a card game a couple years back," Tim says, because that's the story the 'dummy' _Outlaw_ computer will support if Jason starts looking through the ship's records. "It started out as a business arrangement, but we… we've grown fond of each other."

"I only have your word for that."

"You can check the logs if you don't believe me."

"Stay there," Jason snaps gesturing with his blaster as he moves over to the console, and starts pulling up records and captain's logs.

"Also, I should probably tell you—that blaster won't do much other than sting me. I'm a fire-breather."

"Wait, are you trying to tell me I'm married to _Caroline Hill_?" Jason demands, spinning his seat around to face Tim fully. Which is… interesting. Fire-breather identities are close-kept secrets, ones that Tim's family has striven to do their utmost to keep and protect over the centuries they've rule Bristol. It may be common knowledge that Caroline Hill is Bristolian, but no one outside the select few who know her true identity should be aware that she's a fire-breather. "I didn't… Oh, crap. You really _are_ her, aren't you?"

Tim stares. "You lose all memory of the last few years and a good chunk of your childhood, but you remember who _I_ am?"

"Of course. Wouldn't know anything about anything when it comes to Kaneish royals and laws across the Thousand without your netvids," Jason mutters, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink as he glances away and somewhat-guiltily hooks the blaster back on his belt.

Unbelievable. "You're ridiculous, sometimes."

"Yeah, well. You're the one who married me?"

Putting a swing into his step, Tim strides over. "You're lucky you're so cute. Otherwise, I would've kicked you out ages ago. You may be captain, but this _is_ my ship now." He nods to the screen, where _Outlaw_ 's deed of ownership is up.

Jason stares at the screen. "Well. If you says so…"

"Oh, _now_ you believe me." He keeps his tone light, almost flippant, but in truth his mind is racing a mile a minute as he tries to figure out a solution. If Jason's willing to trust him, he can totally work with this, he just… needs to touch base with HQ, let them know something's gone wrong, that his training officer is down for the count. Unfortunately, with _Redwing_ stuck in _Outlaw_ mode and Tim not having the clearance to switch it back, he can't open a secure channel. He's going to have to improvise.

"Of course I trust you. Everyone knows they can trust Caroline Hill. You stick your neck out for the little guys." Jason smiles, sweet and disarming. "You're the most honest person in the Thousand. You wouldn't ever do anything underhanded."

Tim's stomach twists unhappily and he has to grab the back of Jason's chair to steady himself before leaning in. "Damn straight. Now, how about you plot a course for Robinson and then we can head to the medbay and check you over?"

"Sure," he says, already turning back to console and bringing up star charts of the Thousand. "Why're we headed there?"

"Different reasons. Mainly the fact that it's along our course and I owe my niece a visit." It's not the circumstances Tim would have chosen for that particular meeting to take place in, but needs must, and sometimes sacrifices must be made.

"Your niece? Do I want to know what your family thinks of you hooking up with smuggler scum?" Sweetheart that he is, Jason looks more than a little anxious when he glances up.

Tim laughs, squeezing his shoulder. "Relax. You and Danger are going to _love_ each other."

"Your niece's name is Danger?"

"Her middle name is Danger and everyone calls her that, since Agnes is not something a five year old wants to be saddled with. She's technically my best friend's daughter," Tim explains. He still can't believe Stephanie named her daughter that, but it's apparently a family name—both first and middle. "I'm an only child, so my friend let me declare Danger as my honorary niece."

"'S cool. I'm honorary uncle to my buddy's daughter, I get it," Jason says.

"I know." Tim smiles. "Lian's a dear."

Jason glances up at him, looking more than a little startled. "I guess we really _are_ married, if you know Lian. They show up at the wedding, then?"

"No, we had a very small ceremony. Roy stood witness for us, though."

"Who?" Jason asks distractedly as he sets the ship to autopilot and rises from his seat.

"Roy, Lian's father," Tim says slowly, taking Jason's hand as they exit the cockpit to make sure he doesn't try and duck out of going to the medbay as he has so many times over the past year. "Arsenal."

"Huh. Never knew Arsenal's name was Roy."

"How in the Thousand do you remember that you two were married for all of thirty minutes but not remember Roy's name? This is ridiculous." Tim huffs, slapping the door release for the medbay with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

Most ships _Redwing_ 's size don't have a separate medbay, instead making do with a wall unit in one of the common rooms. But _Redwing_ is also a ship that was custom-built to serve Jason's needs as both a Royal Courier and his alter-ego's supposed occupation as a smuggler, so there's a little closet about on par with the ship's equally-tiny head. It's nothing fancy, but it does host a module that's a step or two up from what a wall unit would provide, as well as a very cramped, very basic biobed. Jason may be effectively immortal due to L.S., but he can still get hurt. Plus, he travels with crew and passengers that are a lot squishier and prone to injury than he himself is.

Tim pushes Jason down on the edge of the bed and pulls a couple of electrodes out of the wall, pressing them to Jason's temples so the module can start to monitor his condition. That done, he turns to rummaging for what he needs to see to the nasty electrical burn that resulted from the helmet's shorting out.

"You really know your way around here, don't you?"

" _Someone_ keeps putting himself in danger because he stupidly forgets that just because he can bounce back from nearly everything doesn't mean he needs to be a human shield," Tim grumbles, spraying the burn mark with DermaFix and watching anxiously as charred flesh sloughs off and new skin grows to replace it.

"Hey," Jason says, catching Tim's shaking hand and squeezing it. "It's alright to take a moment for yourself. This has to be pretty weird for you."

"You too," Tim says, forcing the words out through a throat that's swollen from tears he refuses to shed. No matter what Jason says, it's not okay for him to rest, not with everything that's on the line right now. They're carrying sensitive information that that has to get back to the Corps as soon as possible, and Tim just doesn't have the means to do that at the moment. Plus, he somehow managed to get his partner injured and while it's bad enough that partner appears to now honestly believe himself to be the shady criminal his cover identity says he is, said partner also happens to be the heir to one of the most powerful thrones in the quadrant. "You've lost a big chunk of your life."

"Eh." Jason shrugs, tugging at Tim's hand until he relents and allows himself to be pulled down to sit beside his husband on the bed. "I probably wouldn't even notice anything was missing if you weren't here to tell me. Kinda do regret that I don't remember meeting you, though. Bet that was really something else." Smiling, he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair that's escaped Caroline's ponytail back behind Tim's ear.

Tim doesn't mean to do it, but he's basically conditioned at this point to kiss him whenever the idiot gets all soppy and looks at him with those big, blue-green eyes. Not that Jason is any help, and apparently muscle memory is totally a thing, since he's quick to return the kiss, pressing Tim up against the wall of the cramped space, tugging up fishnet-clad legs to encircle his waist.

It's not until Jason slips a hand into the leather jacket to fondle Caroline's breast that Tim recalls himself, remembers why they can't do this, everything that's wrong with the current situation. He grabs Jason's wrist and tugs it free, gently pushing him away. "Jay, we can't."

"Why not? We're married, aren't we?"

"Yes, but you don't even know who I am, not really. You're half in the dark, and as long as that's true, we can't be equals. If we did anything, I'd be taking advantage of you, and I just can't do that." Though he certainly wants to; the adrenaline high from the earlier firefight is rekindling under his skin, making Tim painfully aware of the protective cup he still has on.

Jason snorts. "I don't see how that should matter. You already said you won me in a card game; I may not be the legal expert you are, but I definitely know how marriage works in the Thousand. You talk a good game about how we care for each other and all that crap, but let's face it—I'm your property, my feelings don't even enter into the equation."

Tim shoves him away, scrambling to get up off the bed, out of the medbay and into the corridor. "I wouldn't—I'm not—I would _never_ treat you or any person like that, and you'd know that if you actually remembered anything about me! I say I won you and that's what we tell everyone, that's the official story, but if it were the whole truth I would've divorced you and set you free a long time ago. I would never _ever_ forcibly bind a person to myself like that." The very notion that Jason could ever think that of him sends his stomach twisting into knots. After what his parents did, what Darla did… He shudders, wrapping his arms around himself, pulling his jacket close.

Standing in the doorway of the medbay, Jason stares at him, surprise and disgust warring with one another to gain a foothold on his face. "If you hate it so much, come up with a different story to tell people. And maybe don't kiss a guy without warning if you don't want anything to happen." He sounds angry, and no wonder.

"That was just… It's stupid, I know, but I sort of thought, maybe…" Tim gulps, glances away. "In the stories, all the world's problems are solved by true love's kiss, aren't they? Things would be so much easier if that kind of thing were true."

"'True love'?" Jason scoffs. "Prettify it all you like, try and take the moral high ground, but face the facts, sweetheart. You took possession of my ship, my business, and my body. All I have to go on now is the story you told me, and anyone who's willing to take a man's life and livelihood as a wager in a game is someone who isn't about to factor in some bullshit idea like _love_ when they calculate the odds."

"Believe what you want, but I love my husband," Tim snaps, flames licking at his lips as he starts to lose a little of the control he usually holds so tight. "I love my husband, but right now? Right now you're not the man I married. You aren't anyone at all to me but a stranger, an obstacle to overcome to get the man I love back. And you better stay the fuck out of my way until I need you again."

Turning on his heel, Tim stomps off down the corridor back to the cockpit. Much as he'd love to curl up in their bed and feel sorry for himself, he simply doesn't have that luxury right now. If nothing else, he isn't sure he can trust Jason not to change their course if he isn't there to keep watch over the console.

 

* * *

 

Jason slinks into the cockpit a few hours later, bearing bowls of some kind of stew that smells delicious and prompts gurgles of interest from Tim's stomach. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, and that was at least ten hours ago.

"Here," Jason says gruffly, thrusting one of the bowls at Tim as he slumps down in the empty pilot's chair.

"Thanks. You didn't have to cook." Though, if Jason hadn't, Tim would've probably just grabbed a NutriPac and eaten it raw. Cooking is time-consuming and even after over a year on _Redwing_ , he still feels nervous around all the green things in the aeroponics bay. 

"Well, you haven't told me yet what I'm still allowed to do around here, Miss High-and-Mighty Owner," Jason snaps, sounding sulky and peeved.

"You're still the captain; you do most of the same things you always did, cooking included. But I help out where I can, usually with navigation, the ship's computer, and carrying out jobs like the one we were doing when you were injured." Not strictly true, but Tim can hardly explain the actual breakdown of duties and balance of power when Jason doesn't even remember their primary purpose.

"Except you take all the profit, now."

"It's generally a 30-30-40 split, actually-—30 for you, 30 for me, 40 back into the expense fund for fuel, food, ship maintenance, that kind of thing. Like I said before—you're my partner, Jason, not my possession." Tim pauses to eat some of his stew, mulling matters over. "Though it may be best to let me take point and do all the talking until this whole amnesia mess resolves itself. You're missing years of your life and are totally out of touch with the current political situation; we don't need you accidentally inciting a blood feud."

"Fair point," Jason says, giving him a shrewd look. 

"Well, I _am_ the brains of this little operation."

"You are, are you?"

Humming in agreement, he grins at Jason. "You're here to be intimidating and shoot things."

"Oh come on, I definitely do more than that," Jason protests.

Tim makes a big show of thinking it over. "I suppose you're right," he concedes. "I mean, you're also very nice to look at."

 

* * *

 

Braced in the doorway of the cockpit, he watches as Jason deftly eases _Redwing_ into one of the available spaces at the capital spaceport. Robinson is one of the larger asteroids in the Thousand, with lush terrain and a booming population, one that sports its own special talents, much as Bristol has its fire-breathers. Still, it's only a duchy, and doesn't warrant a palace spaceport the way a realm like Metropolis does. It's certainly populous enough that they'll have to take some precautions while here.

"Wait a second," Tim says, his a hand against Jason's chest stopping him from rising straight away. Tilting the other man's face upwards, he carefully presses on the red domino mask that Red Hood wears under his helmet.

"You embarrassed to be seen with me?" Jason snips. After a week spent in close quarters, they're doing a bit better now, but he still seems unsure about his place in the ship. As anxious as he himself has been feeling, Tim hasn't been the best when it comes to reassuring him. 

"The duchess may be fostering my niece, but she only knows I'm married to the Red Hood, not Jason Todd. Just because I'm party to your secrets doesn't mean I want everyone else knowing them too." It would be better if Jason could wear the helmet and hide his entire face, but despite all his poking and prodding, Tim still hasn't managed to repair the torque, even if he were willing to let Jason wear it again any time soon. The domino isn't much, but between it and the white lazar streak in his hair, hopefully he'll go unrecognized even in the ducal palace.

"Wait, your niece is being fostered by the _duchess_ of _Robinson_?" Jason demands, jerking back slightly.

"She's the daughter and heir of the baroness of Grieves, of course she's going to be fostered by someone capable of protecting her."

"The baroness—you're _friends_ with the Thousand Houses? Don't you know what they _do_ to people?"

"I have people from all over the Thousand coming to me for legal advice, Jason, high- and low-born. The Thousand Houses have their bad apples just like any group, but they're not all bad people," Tim snaps, more than a little annoyed. Jason may not remember it right now, but technically Tim himself is of the Thousand Houses. "I'm well-aware of what some Houses are willing to do to further their own agendas. And besides, it's not as if you haven't taken on jobs for them in the past."

"Ah, well…" Jason glances away, slightly sheepish. "I suppose you have a point. I've no quarrel with the way the duchess runs Robinson, and I've honestly never heard much of anything about Grieves, aside from the fact that the baron's something of an ass."

"Which would be why Stephanie usurped him as soon as she could secure her position with an heir of her own." Tim is about step outside when a thought occurs to him. "Jason… I don't know how much you remember of your first—of what happened on Ixchel, but the duchess's wife… She used to be a part of the pirate crew that attacked the place. I'm fairly certain she'd already left and married before they ever went after Ixchel—I mean, the duchess had me help her build an entire case to that effect when the Dual Thrones wanted to try her as an accessory in the attack—but I thought you should know."

"I. I don't…" Jason frowns, forehead wrinkling in concentration before it smooths out and he shakes his head. "I don't really remember any of that. I didn't even know the Dual Thrones took an interest in what went down at Ixchel Station."

"Oh, well," Tim says breezily as he opens the hatch and hops down the stairs when they unfold. "The Red Prince was on it at around the same time as you, back then. Didn't you know?"

 

* * *

 

The duchess welcomes them with open arms and a wide smile, though the latter is strained slightly when she sees Jason. "Really, Caroline. I thought you had better taste than to marry a man," she says, grimacing slightly. "I always thought you and the baroness might… renew your arrangement." 

"Red Hood is more of a business arrangement than a marriage," Tim reassures her breezily. "And, as I'm sure your consort will tell you, sometimes there are certain advantages to taking up with a man. Particularly one as… sturdy and well-proportioned as Hood is."

"Like what?" Danger demands, glancing up at Jason from where she's wrapped around Tim's legs.

"Your aunt likes me to get things off tall shelves for her," Jason says, crouching down so he's at her level. "No more step stools."

"Oh, that's smart," the little girl agrees. "Here, the vines get things down if it's too high up, but I gotta I say please."

"You _have_ to say please," the duchess corrects automatically. "And I'm sure Caroline says please when she wants Hood to do things for her too."

"Well, mostly," Tim admits, smirking slightly. "Sometimes it's more fun to just make him do it." Not that anything like that will be happening again if he can't figure out some way to fix Jason's memory issues.

"It's good that you stopped by," the duchess says, cutting short _that_ particular conversation—perhaps she noticed the way her consort looked about ready to start asking more probing questions. "The baroness mentioned that you might be able to help us with certain particulars about Danger's physiology, seeing as how the child's father isn't in the picture."

"Pardon?" Tim says, more than a little stiffly. Even though it's no longer an issue, it's an automatic response for him to go on alert anytime Stephanie's ex is brought up.

"Danger, if you'd be so kind as to show Caroline your new trick."

The girl squeals in delight, letting go of Tim's legs and skipping happily to the center of the room. "Aunt Caro, _look_!" she exclaims, before letting loose a stream of flame nearly a meter in length.

"Oh, Danger, you _didn't_ ," is out of Tim's mouth before he can stop himself. "That's supposed to be a _recessive_ trait." It would figure that Stephanie would have a little Bristolian somewhere in her hodge-podge ancestry, but still. He hadn't even considered Danger inheriting this particular ability from her father, the chances were so remote.

"Just like a dragon!" Danger says proudly, her fumbling control nowhere near good enough to keep tiny flames from dribbling from her mouth as she speaks. She frowns and purses her lips.

"Don't even _think_ about spitting and ruining the duchess's nice entryway," Tim warns her. "Acidic saliva is a frequent byproduct of fire-breathing," he explains to the others. "A _practiced_ and _polite_ fire-breather knows this and swallows it down instead of damaging her surroundings."

"Won't that hurt her?" the duchess frets. "Tiles can be easily replaced, digestive systems, on the other hand…"

Tim snorts and waves a hand. "Fire-breathers are pretty sturdy. The second stomach is capable of processing and producing all kinds of noxious things, beyond just those necessary for fire-breathing. If she swallows it back down, it'll just be processed and held in reserve for if she wants it later, or, if enough time goes by without her using it, it'll be passed as harmless waste. Well. Harmless to her."

"She only just started doing this a few weeks ago," the duchess confesses. "Any advice you can give us on how to deal with it would be invaluable. I'm afraid we're rather flying blind here, and you Bristolians aren't so keen on sharing sensitive information about your greatest resource with outsiders. I tried contacting the current prince, but was rather rudely ignored."

"Oh, yeah, the man's an ass," Tim drawls, mentally kicking himself. Whoops, that's what he gets for putting off his official correspondence until after a mission. Since most of the day-to-day workings of Bristol are seen to by carefully vetted and very able staff, usually the correspondence he receives are pompous invitations to parties he has no interest in attending, sent by acquaintances of the previous monarch who aren't aware of the regime change that occurred following the Dual Thrones sentencing of his parents to several decades of hard labor for illegally selling their child to the highest bidder, among other things. "I'll put some essential readings and things on Danger's pad before I leave, and I'll send you some additional literature later. The main thing to know now is to watch what she eats. Fire-breather physiology means they can take in all kinds of crazy stuff and their second stomach will make it into something the body thinks will be useful."

"Well, that explains the sudden interest in eating dirt," the duchess says, giving Danger a regretful look. Ever her mother's daughter, the girl simply grins back.

"Ah, yeah. I'd… avoid that if I were you. Just until she has a better handle over her control. Fire and acid aren't the only things a fire-breather can produce, and some of their output isn't nearly as flashy," Tim cautions, frowning at his niece. As fun as it is to be able light things up with a puff, it's far from a safe and tidy ability.

"Oh my," says the duchess. "No more dirt for you, young lady."

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take much doing to convince Danger to entertain her 'Uncle Red' while Tim sequesters himself in her room to see to the boring duty of finding and loading texts on fire-breathers and their peculiarities. It's just as well he's here to do this, since a number of the relevant texts are treasonous to access outside of Bristol without the explicit permission of the ruling prince, not that the duchess need ever know that particular tidbit.

As he waits for the final text to download, he watches anxiously through a window as Danger drags Jason out into the garden. This isn't how he wanted the two of them to meet, but desperate times call for desperate measures. When the last childish laugh fades into the distance, he carefully locks the door of Danger's bedroom, then turns to a wall sconce a few feet away.

The _Outlaw_ program may have locked him out of the secure comm system on _Redwing_ , but RedX was using Caroline's network to contact Oracle long before Tim ever left school. He may not be able to access that network on _Redwing_ right now, but the network itself is built up of signal bouncers that various friends and acquaintances have sprinkled around the quadrant for him over the years, among them Stephanie.

It's simple enough to hook his pad into the hidden relay unit secret away behind the light fixture, and before long a familiar green mask is floating on the screen of the pad. _"Re—No… you're Caroline now, aren't you?"_ the entity Tim's only ever known as Oracle says. _"What are you doing, contacting me on this channel?"_

"I can't access the secure system on the ship and I have to talk to the boss," Tim says urgently. "Something's gone wrong and I need to know what to do."

_"You're in luck; someone happens to be in at the moment. Just a minute."_

The green mask dissolves into pixels, leaving the screen momentarily black before a regular vidview comes up, showing the head of the Royal Courier Corps and, as it happens, Tim's cousin by marriage. His eyes widen ever-so-slightly, possibly recognizing Tim's get-up. _"Cadet. Please tell me you're hailing with the information that was due two days ago."_

Tim shifts nervously in his seat. "About that. There's been a complication. The retrieval mission was a bit more dicey than projected. We just barely avoided capture."

Dick swears softly, a word Tim never would have suspected the crown prince of the Black Throne to even know, let alone use. _"Did you get the intel, at least?"_

"Yes and no. We have it, but I can't access it at this time."

_"What? Where's your partner, I want to talk to him."_

"That won't be possible. He's the complication." Clenching his teeth together, Tim draws in a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm and steady. "He was injured and doesn't remember himself; instead he thinks he really is the Red Hood. He's listening to me for now, but. But I'm not sure how much longer that will last, and I don't have the clearance to take the ship out of _Outlaw_ mode."

 _"Hey, calm down,"_ Dick says. _"You found a workaround so you could report back, that's great, very resourceful. Gold star, Cadet."_

Grabbing a tissue from Danger's desk, Tim dabs at his eyes. He'll have to check a mirror before he leaves, but he's pretty sure Caroline's makeup and face are still fine. Hopefully. "This better not be some weird training exercise. Fake amnesia to see how I'll respond."

 _"Well. I can't say we wouldn't ever, because that's actually a pretty good idea,"_ Dick allows, _"but we definitely wouldn't do it when it could jeopardize a real, actual time-sensitive operation. That said, what's the problem with the intel?"_

"Jason got it all, but he memorized it. Troop movements, shipping routes, all of it. Only now, with the memory loss…"

 _"He doesn't know that he knows it."_ Dick is silent for a long moment. _"There's not enough time to send another team in, never mind that the risk would be many times greater now that they're on their guard. We need for him to remember."_

"I know. I was hoping he'd get better on his own?" It's a horrible excuse for why he's allowed such an intolerable situation go on for as long as it has, but he's not sure what else he could be doing. Brain trauma is tricky business under the best of circumstances, and Jason's unusual physiology is such that it could be even more persnickety. Plus, if what he suspects of the torque's involvement in the whole thing is true, that adds an entire new level of uncertainty.

_"We don't have the time for that. Tim… you know what you have to do."_

Tim's stomach twists and he jerks backward, nearly dropping the pad. " _No_. You can't ask that of me, I can't—not that, not with him."

 _"Part of being a Courier is making difficult decisions. Jason assured me you would be professional and that neither his nor your personal feelings would prevent either of you from doing the job, should it come down to it. Was I wrong to allow you to partner up together?"_ Dick asks sharply, his face all business.

"I _can't_ ," Tim repeats, because he knows what Dick's asking of him, what he wants. He knows because he very briefly contemplated it himself back at the start of this whole mess. But he can't do it, can't commit such an act of betrayal. "I'll see what I can do about retrieving the information, but I can't do that."

_"Your lives aren't the only ones on the line here, Cadet. If the duke of Coal's forces attack the duchy of Pearl while you're busy fretting over your personal life, it could mean outright war and millions of innocent lives being lost."_

"Give me a few more days. There must be another way," Tim begs. " _Please._ "

Dick gives him a long, hard look. _"You have two. After that, you'll be declared AWOL and an enemy of the state."_ His face softens slightly and he sighs. _"I know it's hard. I don't ever want to be in your position and I hate that I have to ask this of you. But this is what we do, all of us. Possession of power goes hand-in-hand with using that power responsibly, whatever it might be."_

"Yeah, well. I'd like to see you try and explain that to her majesty when this is all over," Tim says viciously, pulling the plug and severing the connection.

Two days. Two days until every marine in Kaneish space is out for his blood. The irony of the situation is, of course, that by refusing to do as Dick asks, he's both committing _and_ refusing to commit treason at the same time.

_Politics._

 

* * *

 

Danger is learning how to do cherry drops on an elaborate jungle gym made of still-living trees when Tim finds them. The girl is squealing in delight, clearly enthused by the free-fall sensation each time she drops, while the paleness of Jason's skin and the lingering note of panic in his tone as he talks her through it makes it clear he realizes the risks involved in teaching a five-year-old child such a skill.

"You don't have to hover like that," Tim says as he grows near. "Nothing in the garden would ever allow any harm to come to Danger."

Jason shivers but dutifully takes several steps back, giving the girl free rein to practice on her own. "It's true, then? That the duchess controls all the plants on Robinson?"

"Most everyone here has some degree of chlorokinesis. The duchess's ability is just a lot more powerful than that of any of her subjects. Except for maybe her daughters, possibly, but the sporlings are special." Tim tilts his head to the side, curious. "Do you really not remember this? You used to know nearly as much as I do about Robinsonians."

"It sounds vaguely familiar? Like something I might've heard a long time ago. Sorry," Jason says. He sounds oddly subdued, the anger that's been simmering under his skin for the past couple of days finally banked, at least for a little while.

He isn't surprised. Like her mother, Danger can work miracles when it comes to putting even the biggest brutes at ease. "Don't be sorry," Tim says gently, resting a hand on his husband's arm. "None of this is your fault. Heck, if anyone here is to blame for what happened, it's me. If I hadn't dodged that shot, you would've been fine. It's not like the blast would've done anything other than put a hole in my jacket."

The noise Jason makes is a pained one as he turns to straighten said jacket where it hangs from Tim's slim shoulders. "You might have to get a new jacket, then, which would be a shame. This one looks really good on you."

Tim laughs. "You just like seeing me in your clothes." Or maybe some part of the other man realizes Tim might go back to wearing Kon's stolen shirt if he loses Hood's old jacket? But no, that's just wishful thinking on Tim's part—Jason doesn't remember any of that.

"It's mine? I thought it was a bit big on you, but I assumed that was your thing—you wear that huge sweater in all the netvids." Jason's head tilts to the side, eyes roving over him. "Brown leather… looks a lot more comfortable than the tight black plastweave one I used to have."

"You can't have it back. It's mine now." Pulling the jacket closer around himself, Tim mock-glares.

Smiling slightly, Jason brushes back a lock of Caroline's hair, and Tim finds himself unconsciously swaying towards that hand. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of—"

"Are you going to kiss?"

Tim jerks back, jumping slightly in surprise. He'd completely forgotten they aren't alone out here among all the roses. Fighting down a blush, he gives his niece a stern look. "Married people kiss. Suck it up and deal, kiddo."

"Oh, I know. Aunt Pam and Aunt Harley kiss all the time. Mommy says it's what people do when they really, really love each other," Danger says matter-of-factory, scrambling up on a nearby log so she's closer to their level.

"Sounds like your mom is a real smart lady," Jason comments, though his gaze is on Tim as he says it, inexplicably intense despite the mask.

"The smartest," Danger agrees. "She's at the special school right now. It's really hard, that's why I'm here with the aunts until she's done."

"Aunts who are going to be awfully cross with me if you miss lunch. C'mon, kiddo. Time to get back," Tim says, using the excuse of lifting her down to escape Jason's stare.

"Are you going to stay for lunch, Aunt Caro?"

"No, honey. Red Hood and I have very important business to see to. I'm glad I got a chance to stop by and see you while we were nearby, though." Particularly if he fails to deliver what Dick needs before his two days are up. If Tim is going to prison for the rest of his life, at least he'll have the memory of this bright, amazing girl to keep close and cherish.

 

* * *

 

Years of diplomatic training meant to prepare him for just such a situation as this one allow Tim to graciously decline an invitation to join the duchess and her family for lunch, and they're able to easily take their leave of the palace, despite Danger's cajoling that her 'Aunt Caro' and 'Uncle Red' stay just a little longer.

All the way back to the ship, Jason is silent. Tim doesn't think much of it—in his experience, everyone seems relatively quiet to him following any length of time spent in Danger's company.

It isn't they've nearly lifted off that Jason says anything, and even then, it's an innocent, innocuous comment. "She's a lovely little girl."

"Isn't she?" Tim says, his chest puffing up, nearly bursting. He knows he's in no way responsible for the person she's growing into, but he can't help feeling a degree of secondhand pride. "Smart as a whip, too. We're hoping she'll qualify for an Academy scholarship when she's old enough. Her family is a ruling one, but her grandfather squandered most of the treasury on foolish schemes back before she was ever born, so everything that's left has to go right back into the barony."

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"Hm? Know about what?" Normally, he would assume the question to be in reference to the fact that Tim and Caroline are the same person, but since Jason doesn't even know about Tim at the moment, it can't be that.

"That you're her mother."

Tim just narrowly avoids flubbing their take off, nearly clipping the spire of one particularly tall building as he struggles to correct his ham-handed fumbles. "You heard what Danger said—her mother is studying at the Academy," he says sharply.

"Please. The duchess may not see it because she barely knows you, but you and Danger have the exact same grin, and don't even get me started on the stupid nose you both share."

"What's wrong with my nose?"

"Nothing," Jason grumbles, his cheeks pinking slightly. "Anyway, fire-breathing is a fairly rare talent. Are you going to tell me that a girl who shares so much with you in terms of looks and ability isn't your bio kid? Please."

All of which would be why Tim has put off telling Jason about Stephanie's daughter for as long as possible. He _knows_ just how tricky the other man's brain can be; it was pretty much a given that he was going to reach a conclusion like this as soon as he spent any time around Danger. It's hardly the ideal time to tell him the truth, but it's only going to make things worse if he puts it off any longer. "I'm not Danger's mother, biological or otherwise. But you're not wrong in saying that she's my child by blood."

"Wait, are you saying you're actually—"

"Gender is a social construct," Tim says shortly. "Danger's mom is my ex. She needed an heir to secure her bid for leadership of her domain when it became clear her father was going to run Grieves into the ground if he remained in power any longer. I was a willing donor, and had a better understanding of her situation than some of her peers." It had been difficult, figuring out what needed to be done to ensure that Stephanie would get pregnant on the first try, considering the complications involved whenever fire-breathers attempt procreation with other humans, but they had been more than willing to make the effort. Unlike his own parents. "So, yes. Danger's my daughter, but only in a biological sense. I'm perfectly happy with honorary aunt duties." Or uncle, as the case happened to be.

"Is that why you shut me down the other day?" Jason asks cautiously. "You thought I couldn't handle what I'd find in your pants?"

"Oh, I know you can handle what's in my pants just fine… under normal circumstances. I shut you down for the exact reasons I gave—I refuse to take advantage of you when you're like this." Tim stands abruptly, suddenly unable to handle just how much Jason both is and isn't the man he married at this moment. "I'm going to see if I can fix your torque. Try not to crash us into something if you can help it."

 

* * *

 

He spends hours fiddling with the torque, trying to repair it but also trying to determine exactly what it did to cause such selective memory loss. It's a sophisticated piece of equipment, using bits and pieces of technology from all over the quadrant, and not all of it is human. Beyond just protection, it has a neural interface that allows the wearer to access _Redwing_ 's computer and also, Tim suspects, most of the R.C. Corps' database, if the right credentials are present. Not that he can be certain, since he's still a month away from having said credentials.

All of which means that, even with his significant technical know-how, he's at a loss as to how to use the torque to reverse what happened, if such a thing is even possible. He's about ready to throw it across the armory when there's a knock on the frame and Jason sticks his head in.

"What?" Tim snaps, angry that he's no closer to a solution than he was when they left Robinson, that he's wasted precious time he doesn't have, that no matter how much he wants this man to be the one he's grown so close to over the past two years, it just _isn't_.

"Robbie Malone's on the comm. He wants to talk to you about a job the two of you set up." Jason tilts his head to the side. "I thought you said we didn't have anything pressing right now?"

"We don't, not really. I've still got time to deliver what Robbie wants, no matter what he says," Tim growls, jumping to his feet. "Here," he says, shoving the torque at Jason as he passes. "Maybe _you_ can make heads or tails of the blasted thing." Who knows, the guy's been using the fancy thing for ages now, he must have had to repair it a time or two, right? Plus, it'll keep him out of Tim's hair while he he deals with 'Robbie.'

Dick's stupid face with its stupid undercover getup greets him as soon as he enters the cockpit. "I suppose it's too much to hope that your hail means you've found a workaround and the deadline's gone," Tim says, though he knows it can't be that. If there were any other option, Dick wouldn't be asking him to do this.

 _"Sorry, no. I guess you were telling the truth about Jason."_ No wonder the idiot never worries about an actual mask for his undercover work—between the mullet, the horrible polka-dot shirt, and the gold chain, Tim's so distracted he has a hard time even making eye-contact.

"Of course I was telling the truth! Why in the Thousand would I lie about something like that? I know what's on the line, I understand what we're dealing with, I don't appreciate you checking up on me when I still have time."

 _"More I wanted to check up on him,"_ Dick says, his eyes flicking to the closed door behind Tim. _"He recognized me as 'Robbie' as soon as I came on the screen, but nothing beyond that."_

"It's weird what he can and can't remember," Tim acknowledges. "He recognized who I was as soon as he knew I was a fire-breather named Caroline, but I've never put it out that Caroline Hill is a fire-breather, and I know for a fact he didn't watch my netvids before he met me." He sighs, curling up in the copilot's seat, resting his cheek on his knee. "All I can think of is that it's because he was hooked into the torque's neural interface when it shorted out."

_"So you really don't have anyway to fix it aside from—"_

"Look," Tim interrupts, uncurling enough so he can reach the console and start keying in coordinates, "I'll direct us to Kandor, alright? A lot of the torque's tech is kryptonian, maybe they've seen something like this before, will know how to counter it. But I won't do that."

 _"You have 36 hours remaining. Make the best of them,"_ Dick says stonily, and then the screen goes black.

"Well, _that_ didn't sound particularly pleasant."

Tim whirls around to stare. How long has Jason been standing in the doorway? How much did he hear? "It's just a disagreement about my methods."

"Uh huh. I don't think I've ever heard Robbie be that chilly with anybody before, and he and I go way back." He strides across the room, flopping down in the pilot's chair. "Of course, with the way you keep secrets, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you make enemies left and right."

"Robbie Malone is not my enemy. We're just having a difference of opinion on something," Tim grits out. "And I don't have _that_ many secrets. Not from you." Under normal circumstances, at least, Danger excluded.

"Sure. Look, are you even Caroline Hill? Or did you just take advantage of the fact that you look a lot like her to worm your way onto my ship?" Jason demands, surging forward to grab Tim's arm, keeping him from turning away.

"Not that it really matters at the moment, but I'm as close to the real, actual Caroline Hill as anyone is ever going to get. And I didn't need that name to 'worm' my way on here. Despite what your faulty memory tells you, you'd never even heard of Caroline until after you met me and I saved your sorry ass."

"I just find it hard to believe I agreed to play doting hubby to a narc," Jason hisses, his grip bruising on Tim's arm.

"I. What?" Even if Jason overheard the tailend of Dick's hail, nothing was said that could have clued him into the true nature of the situation.

"Went looking for the stuff to repair my torque, since you're taking forever with it. Imagine my surprise when I found _that_ ," Jason says, dropping his own R.C. badge on the console between them.

Tim stares at it, a giggle welling up from deep inside him. He fucking _told_ Jason to do a better job of hiding the damned thing, but it still always ends up in the armory for some reason. "You got me. I work for the Royal Courier Corps."

"Does he even _know_?"

"Who, Robbie? Why the hell would Robbie Malone know that—"

"No, _him_. Me. Other me," Jason says.

"Yes," Tim says. "I joined the Corps after we were married. If you remember that the Couriers are more than just messengers, then you know that what I do is important. I help people, help maintain peace."

"By smuggling and causing a ruckus?"

"By getting things to the people who need them. Smuggling is a good cover, though, and you don't mind lending me a hand when I need a little extra help." Tim reaches up, gently touching the hand still clasping his arm. "If you could keep another kid from having the sort of childhood you had, wouldn't you?"

He glares, but finally releases that punishing grip. "So you reformed the big bad Red Hood, then?" he sneers.

"You didn't need all that much reforming and you know it, Jason." Sighing, he pushes to his feet. Suddenly, he feels tired—tired of lying, of sneaking, of always being alone. "I'm going to take a nap."

"Hey," Jason says, reaching out to grab his hand, only to miss it, their fingertips brushing momentarily. "What are you called? When you aren't Caroline?"

"Tim. My name is Tim."

 

* * *

 

He should go to the cabin he's been using since the start of all this, but he's feeling itchy and out of sorts, like he's going to fly into a million pieces or melt a hole in the wall. Normally, the thing that helps the most with calming him when he feels like this is inserting himself into Jason's space and just _existing_ , but that's not an option right now. May never be an option again, the way things are going.

Since he can't have Jason, he goes for the next best thing, bursting into the captain's cabin and kicking off his boots. He tugs Caroline's hair free and works off the uncomfortable false bosom before burrowing into the big bed, pressing his face into Jason's pillow. It's not the same, it isn't what he wants, but if he squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deeply, he can almost pretend that everything's fine, that he's pressed up against his husband and the past two horrible weeks never happened.

He lies like that for a good fifteen minutes, curled up under the covers and shutting out the universe and everything in it when the silence is broken by the soft _whirr_ of the door opening and closing. "We can't be at Kandor yet," Tim says. He's shocked by how hoarse he sounds—he didn't realize he'd been crying.

"No, we've still got at least a couple more days." It breaks the illusion, Jason being out there instead of over here, in bed next to Tim.

Swallowing thickly, Tim briefly curls tighter, then releases the pillow, struggling to sit upright. "You want your bed back. I'll get up, get out of your hair. Sorry."

"Don't be," Jason says, quickly crossing the room and, after a moment's hesitation, sitting down next to him on the bed. "It's your bed too."

"I think I got makeup all over your pillow." Unfolding, he pushes off the covers, letting them fall to the side so he can assess the damage. Yep, a big old smear of concealer, putty, and mascara right across the middle.

"Oh. Oh, wow."

"Yeah, sorry, it's a mess. I usually remember to take Caroline's makeup off before I get in the bed, but I've been wearing it so much lately that—"

"No, I mean—is this Tim? The real you?" Jason brushes back the bangs hanging in Tim's face, tucking them behind his ear.

"Um, well. If you pass me that," he says, gesturing to the box of removal wipes still waiting on the bedside table from two weeks ago. Jason hands over the box and Tim removes the last vestiges of his disguise. "Caroline's just for netvids and the occasional job," he says, passing the box back. "So, yeah. I guess this is 'Tim'—the 'real' me, as it were."

"You're… Wow. I, uh. I know it's stupid, but I'm feeling kind of jealous of myself here?" Jason says, laughing somewhat depreciatively. "You're really gorgeous. Makes me wish I had all my memories and could do something about that." He grimaces, takes the wipe from Tim's limp hands and gently cleans away some missed streak. "Something about this. Sorry I'm causing you all this trouble."

"It's not your fault," he insists, even though it sort of is. Only not really—if Tim hadn't dodged… No matter, what's done is done. Sighing, he leans against Jason, even though he knows he really shouldn't. Jason's arm immediately settles around his shoulders pulling him closer. Who knows, maybe it's muscle memory. "It's just. My CO, he wants me to do something, something that could hurt someone I care about quite a lot. I'm trying to find another way, but I don't think I'm going to, not before we run out of time and a lot of people end up hurt or worse." 

"'A lot of people…' How many are we talking here?"

He swallows, not really wanting to put it in words. But Jason asked. "Hundreds of thousands. Possibly as many as a million," Tim admits quietly. "It could prevent a war from ever starting."

"Seems to me that unless hurting this one person is going to cause a lot more trouble in the long run, you have a duty to do whatever you can to help all those people. No matter how unpleasant it may be for you personally."

Of course Jason would say that, would feel that way. Would probably continue to say it even if he were aware of exactly what he's advising Tim to do, because Jason is a much better person than him, when it comes down to it. Certainly a much braver one. "You're right," he says, turning to face Jason, stomach roiling. "Last chance to tell me if this is all really some sort of messed up test."

"And how would I know if your silly messenger club is testing you?" Jason asks, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I figured. Better safe than sorry." He hesitates for a moment, then clambers into that broad lap, wrapping a hand around Jason's neck to tug his head down slightly. "Kiss for good luck before I do this?"

"I. I thought you didn't want to. With me. I mean—" Jason breaks off, his face flushing bright pink.

"I can overcome my moral objections for one kiss," Tim promises, cupping Jason's cheek in his free hand and leaning in. "Please?"

"A-alright."

Tim smiles, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "I love you," he murmurs, and then he's pressing their mouths together, digging his fingers into curly hair as he pushes his tongue into Jason's mouth, deepening the kiss, making it more, making it everything. If it doesn't work, if it all goes south and he misses the deadline, this will be the last time he gets to have this, gets to have Jason. His final farewell.

Staring into Jason's face, he inhales deeply through his nose even as his gut churns. Prepares to end it, and—

 _Breathes_.

 

* * *

 

It takes thirty seconds for Jason to lose consciousness, a full three minutes before his heart finally stills and stops, even though the only thing his lungs are taking in for those three minutes is a full concentration of highly toxic gas. Clearly, people with L.S. are a lot hardier than he initially surmised.

Tim carefully lowers the corpse to the bed, tucking the pillow under its head before rising. Since the cat's out of the bag no matter who wakes up, he takes a moment to divest himself of the rest of Caroline, and, after a moment's consideration of his cadet uniform, pulls on his own clothes instead. If he's to be arrested, it will be as a prince, not a member of the R.C. Corps.

A quick trip to the cockpit lets him reset their destination to Themyscira and Epione's excellent medical help, looking to arrive at the edge of the star system in a little under 28 hours. It will put him past Dick's deadline, but there's nothing he can do about that. _Redwing_ is capable of making the trip in a fraction of the time, but _Outlaw_ isn't, and the way things are going, it's not likely Tim will ever have a chance to learn the command code to switch the systems.

He probably murdered Jason for nothing.

He stops by the medbay on his way back to the cabin, grabbing a portable kit from the module there. If he'd been using his brain, he would have brought Jason to the medbay and gotten him firmly seated in the biobed before doing it. Of course, if he'd been using his brain, he would have killed Jason back at the start of this, before going AWOL and trying to find a different, more humane solution.

The corpse is exactly where he left it when he returns to the cabin. It probably doesn't matter, but he hooks it up to the monitor in the medkit anyway. Jason said that his body repairs itself automatically, that biobeds and regentubes just hurry the process along, turning weeks into days, years into months. It can take a long time, bringing a body back to life.

His hands are shaking as he presses the last of the electrodes to the body. He wants nothing more than to hide away in the deepest, darkest corner of the ship and never come out again. But he can't do that, he can't abandon his post, even though the thing in the bed doesn't even really _look_ like Jason anymore, just a waxy, lifeless shell.

Lying down on the bed, Tim curls up beside the cooling corpse, presses his face into the grimmy pillow, and allows himself to fall into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

The bed is empty when he wakes up some ten hours later, and for a brief moment he panics, his half-asleep brain immediately leaping to the conclusion that the space marines have already come and gone, taking Jason, leaving Tim behind, not even allowing him one last goodbye. But no, if anything they would take Tim and leave Jason. Tim is the one who directly disobeyed his commanding officer and murdered the crown prince of the Red Throne to boot.

Struggling to sit up, he pulls himself out of bed, across the cabin, out the door and into the corridor beyond. Facing the music is the last thing he feels like doing, but it's something that will have to be done eventually no matter what. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later.

The galley is empty when he looks in, as are both the medbay and the head when he passes them. Only to be expected, but he tells himself it's better to check than assume. That he isn't deliberately dragging his feet.

When he finally reaches the end of the corridor, he leans his forehead against the cockpit door, steeling himself for the confrontation that's sure to come. Faint sounds come from the other side, though the plasteel is thick enough that he can't make out anything clearly. Swallowing down a lump what he hopes is just nervousness, Tim hesitantly presses his hand against the lockpad, stepping back as the door slides open to raised voices.

"—completely unreasonable to expect it!" Jason is saying, practically shouting as he stands in front of the viewscreen, hands braced on the console.

The viewscreen itself is, of course, full of Dick. _"You said it wouldn't interfere, but it did. It interfered big time and nearly cost an entire operation!"_

"Of _course_ he was nervous about doing it. We couldn't even guarantee that it would work! 'Turn it off and on again' is _not_ a normal medical treatment. Heck, if it was any other team, any other Courier, you wouldn't even _have_ that option."

 _"If it were any other Courier, they wouldn't be taking unreasonable risks with experimental alien tech. Anyway, it_ did _work, in the end, didn't it? No thanks to—"_

" _No_ ," Jason snaps, his back going stiff as he glances back at the door, at Tim. "This conversation is over."

 _"Ja—"_ Dick starts to say, but then his face is replaced by the black of space and distant, twinkling stars. Apparently Jason decided to end the conversation himself, cutting off the hail entirely.

"Idiot wants you to do the refresher course at the College and repeat your training year," he says angrily.

"Oh." That's not nearly as bad as Tim expected, considering all that happened. With some trepidation, he crosses the room to stand next to the console, being sure to put the copilot's chair between them. "Jason, I'm so sorry. I tried to figure out a different solution and when I couldn't, I honestly did try to think of a better way, but it seemed like this was the best method that would also allow for a quick recovery while doing as little as possible to compromise your neural pathways. I know suffocation is the _last_ way you—"

"Hey, calm down," Jason interrupts, moving towards him, the still-attached medkit trundling along behind on its internal maglev.

"I killed you," Tim whispers, hanging back when Jason wraps an arm around his waist and tries to pull him into an embrace.

"And here I thought you were my hero, figuring out the best way to bring me back." Jason pulls more firmly, tugging him until they're flush against each other. Tim should resist, because what he did isn't forgivable, not the act itself nor the time he wasted dithering over it. He should resist, but, well. It's _Jason_.

"Hardly. If I hadn't dodged, none of this would have even happened in the first place and I wouldn't have had to—to—"

"To wake me up with true love's kiss?" Jason smiles down at him, heartachingly sweet as he cups Tim's chin, strokes his cheek with his thumb.

"Oh hell, don't tell me you remember _that_." Tim groans, trying to pull free of the hand so he can hide his face in the warm solidity of Jason's chest. His ears are already burning with embarrassment.

"I remember everything. Mind like a steel trap, me. Barring unfortunate encounters with experimental kryptonian technology." There's a slight edge to Jason's words as he says this, and Tim belatedly remembers just what-all they've been up to over the past week and a half.

He gulps. "Everything?"

"Yes. Though conversations about a certain 'niece' of yours can be left for later. I may have all my memories from the past week, but there's a weird disconnect and I feel like I haven't seen you in _ages_." Tim's face is tilted upwards and a gentle kiss is pressed against his lips. Then the idiot ruins the moment by asking, "How about it, hot stuff? Wanna spend some quality time with me?" The hand on Tim's back travels downwards to goose him.

"You're an ass," Tim grumbles, batting both of Jason's hands away and dancing out of reach, though he smiles as he says it. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"I get things off high shelves for you. And I'm apparently nice to look at," Jason says, leering slightly. "Unless you were lying to bolster the self esteem of poor memory-less me?"

"No, I wasn't. You're _exceedingly_ nice to look at," Tim concedes. He bites his lip. "I suppose we should try make the most of what time we have left together. If I'm going to have to go back to the college for a refresher course, since I doubt Dick will let you mentor me for a second training year after this disaster." Don't get him wrong—he's grateful he isn't being discharged from the Corps entirely, ecstatic that he's not being court-martialed and hauled off by space marines, happy everything for the op worked out in the end. But he's rather enjoyed being married over the past year and he's grown accustomed to having Jason around—and not just because the other man is straight-up softcore porn to look at half the time either, though it's certainly a perk.

Jason frowns. "You're not going anywhere. As your training officer, I get final say on if you pass or not, and I'm not about to hold your unwillingness to kill me against you, particularly considering your understandable unease when it comes to activating the Lazar process after what happened with Darla."

"But Dick's right. I can't be putting my own feelings ahead of the safety and lives of millions of innocent people."

"Psh, it was really more like tens of thousands, and that was only if Zinda completely dropped the ball with her part of it—which she didn't, for the record," Jason says, waving off Tim's completely legitimate concerns.

"Who?" Tim asks, letting Jason take his hand and draw him out of the cockpit and into the corridor.

"Didn't I tell you? This whole mission was a favor for Oracle," Jason breezily informs him. "Dick honestly had no business sticking his nose into things. He hasn't got any jurisdiction here."

"Oracle transferred me to him when I called, though?"

"Cloak and dagger stuff. You're not a full Courier yet, so it was up to the op head to decide if you should be read in on all the details. Since the intel was being gathered for a military op, that means the entire op is under the purview of the Red Throne. I don't know if you're aware of this, but I have a bit more clout there than Dickface," Jason reassures him.

"I'm pretty sure this is some more of that 'conflict of interest' crap we ran into back on Themyscira," Tim says as Jason pushes him into their cabin. "I believe you have been emotionally compromised, your royal highness."

"Don't start pulling the fancy protocols on me or else I'll be forced to do the same and then we'll waste time on needless bowing and scraping when we could be doing something a lot more fun," Jason rumbles, settling his hands on Tim's waist and walking him backwards towards their bed.

"Hm, I don't know... it's kind of nice when you bow and scrape for me."

Jason's eyes widen and he goes still. "…I wouldn't object if you felt like putting Caroline's boots back on. They really do make you a rather convenient height."

"I've been wearing the damned boots all week. My feet are _tired_. They need a rest," Tim says, wrinkling his nose.

"I know," Jason says, a mournful whine coloring the words. "All week and I only just found out yesterday why my base instinct when I hear them clicking down the corridor is to bend over and spread my legs."

"Oh _really_? Well, if you're having a problem, I'm scrapping them entirely and switching to combat boots," Tim warns. "Don't need you in the wrong headspace in the middle of a mission, and they'd be more practical anyway."

"Change your work boots," Jason says. "Keep the heels."

"Mmm," Tim hums, sitting down on the edge of their bed. He pats the mattress beside him. "Convince me first."

"Oh," Jason says, quick to take up his invitation and join him. "I think I can manage that."

 

* * *

 

Jason manages to get quite a lot of convincing done before the medkit starts flashing and wailing, complaining about increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure, difficulties breathing, excessive perspiration, and minor muscle strain. "Ugh, shut up, you blasted thing," Jason groans, flailing about as he tries to find the off switch. When that fails, he makes to remove the electrodes still attached to him.

"Don't you dare," Tim warns, reaching over the side of the bed to hit the mute button. "You're letting that machine record everything until we get you back to Themyscira and Epione can check you over. Bad enough I didn't get you to the biobed for recovery."

"It's ridiculous. My body heals itself naturally with time, it doesn't need anything to help it along."

"You left the medkit attached when you woke up earlier," he reminds Jason, catching one of those large hands in his own.

"Didn't want you to worry if it started howling when I disconnected it," Jason grumbles, looking slightly chagrined.

"Very considerate of you," Tim observes, gently kissing the knuckles of the hand in his, "though I do wish you'd woken me up. I didn't expect you on your feet again so soon, and it's rather disconcerting when a corpse up and walks out on you, even when you've planned for t." He tries to keep his tone lighthearted, but he doesn't succeed completely, and his grip on Jason's hand tightens slightly, an unconscious attempt to keep him close.

"Ah, well. You hadn't really slept in days. I didn't want to wake you if I didn't have to, and it wasn't like you had to be there when I delivered my report to Oracle."

"It was Dick on the vidscreen when I walked in." He wants to believe it when Jason says Dick can't count his behavior on this opp against his Courier record, but all the evidence really does point to the contrary.

"Yeah, well. _Somebody_ took advantage of his connections to butt in on what was _supposed_ to be a private hail," Jason grumbles.

Tim's eyebrows shoot upwards. "I wouldn't think even Dick would have the ability or the security clearance to hijack a direct hail to Oracle on a secure line. It took me half a year just to make contact with them as RedX." It probably would've gone a lot faster if he'd felt able to trust anyone with what he was doing at the time—certainly his friends at school have stronger ties to the League of Justice than he ever did as a simple hereditary prince of the Thousand—but after Kon, it seemed prudent to be as careful as possible.

"You don't need ability or clearance when you're sleeping in the same—" Jason breaks off with a gulp. "Ah, I mean. Dick's a nosy bastard. You'd be surprised what-all he's got his fingers stuck in," he says quickly, glancing nervously over.

"Is Dick sleeping at Oracle's base of operations?" He knows the prince returned to Gotham once Cassie finished at the Corps college and Donna could resume her duties there without any fear of a conflict of interest, but it doesn't make sense for Dick to sleep in the headquarters of the diarchy's spy network instead of at home. "I thought he and Barbara were doing okay. I mean, I'm sure he can be trying, but she seemed the sort to be able to put up with that when I met her during the trial."

"I'm sorry, but I really can't comment on that. I know you've done work for Oracle in the past, but it's not…" Jason pulls him a little closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You've less than a month before you make Courier. It'll make more sense, then."

Tim sighs. "Big bureaucracies have too many security levels. On Bristol there's the people, the administrative staff—really just a couple dozen of secretaries, three accountants, and a seneschal—and the sovereign prince."

"On Bristol, you've never had to deal with more than a million people. The population of Gotham's capital city alone is ten times that, and Oracle's not responsible for Gotham or even just Kane—the entire League uses them now. You can never be too careful when there that many lives at stake," Jason reminds him.

"Ugh. I have a hard enough time keeping up with my official correspondence as it is. I don't want to know what things are going to be like when Kate finally steps down and you take the throne," Tim groans. The prospect of being king consort seemed exciting last year, but since taking over his father's responsibilities as sovereign prince of Bristol, Tim has started seriously rethinking his previous expectations.

"Divorce is still an option, if you—"

"Oh no," he quickly interrupts, tugging Jason down and rolling them over so his husband is under him once more. "You're not getting rid of me _that_ easily, your highness."

 

* * *

 

He tugs at his jacket again, trying to get it to fit correctly. The material stays for a moment, then frustratingly springs back into place.

Strong arms slide around his waist, gently pulling him back against a solid chest. "You can stop that. The dress uniform jackets are supposed to be short," Jason murmurs in his ear.

"I feel like I'm flashing everyone. These pants are criminally tight," Tim mutters, glancing about at the milling crowd. At least the ceremony part of the evening is over.

"How you can be such a prude when you regularly prance around in tiny hot pants, I have no idea."

"That's not _me_ , though. That's all Caroline," Tim reminds him, turning to thank yet another well-wisher and politely shake their hand. Once the stranger is out of earshot, he asks, "Who _are_ all these people? I thought the identities of Couriers were supposed to be closely guarded secrets?"

"Most are Couriers, either current or retired," Jason explains. "A few belong to the Oracle network—a lot of them start out as cadets at the Corps' college, so there's a decent amount of overlap. A few are League officials who are high enough up to be in the know. And the Duke of Fox has to be here as the official representative of the Black Throne, since even though you're sworn to the Red Throne, Kane is a diarchy and there are protocols to observe. Plus, his eldest son is Batwing's Courier, so it's not like he hasn't been to one of these things before."

Tim glances about the reception hall, taking the time to look over the crowd with a closer eye in light of this new information. There are a number of dress uniforms like his own amongst the milling bodies, though most feature different-colored piping than what he and Jason wear, indicating that their wearers belong to other realms. "I wouldn't think one Courier earning his badge would warrant such a turn-out."

"Eh, a lot are on Themyscira to pick up cadets for their training year—all those that _didn't_ make it through the college in record time." Jason waves at two particularly intimidating-looking redheaded women engaged in a conversation, one of whom Tim recognizes as Koriand'r, crown princess of Tamaran and the one who officiated his and Jason's marriage, albeit via comm. "A few showed up because they know you're my husband and wanted to show their support."

"Support?" Are his reprimand and near-miss with a court-martial really such common knowledge already? "What, because of what happened last m—"

"—last year with your parents?" Jason smoothly interjects. "Yeah, probably. Usually a new Courier's family gets invited to these things—great big honor and all that. Since all your family is currently in prison, some of my buddies decided to unofficially adopt you for the occasion."

"Oh," he says faintly. Sure, he went to school with princes and princesses, so he's hardly a stranger to rubbing elbows with powerful (or at least powerfully connected) people. It's a little different when the powerful people are there specifically because of _him_.

"Of course, it does kind of put a damper on my own surprise," Jason says, his hands settling on Tim's waist to gently turn and guide him through the crowd. He's about to ask what Jason means when the sea of people around them momentarily parts and he sees them.

"Jason, you _didn't_ ," he hisses, irrational old fears suddenly reawaken just like that. "They can't _be_ here. They can't be seen with me at—"

"Uncle Tim!" Danger's shriek of delight cuts through the dull roar that always comes when many conversations are all happening at once.

Swallowing down his fears, Tim pulls away from Jason so he can crouch down and catch her small form as it barrels into him. "Hello, darling," he says, pressing his face into her golden curls and inhaling the way Caroline; in all her made-up glory, hadn't been able to. "Did you see the show?"

"You got _married_. But I thought you and Uncle Red were already married?" She glances over at Jason, blue eyes wide.

"Oh, sweetheart, that wasn't a wedding. It was just a big fuss like when your mama finished school last month. Also, you shouldn't call him Red when he's not wearing the mask." Releasing Danger, he straightens. "Your highness, may I present Lady Agnes Danger Gloriana Brown. Lady Danger, my husband, Prince Jason Peter Todd Kane of the Red Throne of Kane."

Danger does credit to her tutors and curtsies very prettily. "It is very nice to make your acquaintance, your highness."

"Likewise, Lady Danger," Jason says with all the gravity of his rank and position, bending low to take her hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

"You didn't _say_ he was the Red Prince when you two showed up at the Academy for my graduation," someone says, and then he he's being hugged again, only this time by someone taller and with very familiar curves.

"Well, then I'd have to explain how we met," Tim mumbles, ducking his head in an effort to hide his blush. He loves Jason, really he does. Just… "Hey, Steph. Thanks for coming. You really didn't have to, I know you're busy at home, getting back in the swing of things." 

"They've looked after it fine without me being physically there for six years now, I'm sure they can manage a few days more," she says, rolling her eyes and pressing a kiss to his cheek before releasing him and turning to give Jason an equally enthusiastic hug. Tim's gratified to see his husband's cheeks flush—nice to know he's not the only one susceptible to Stephanie's considerable charms. "Thanks for inviting us, Jason. I've always wanted a chance to visit Themyscira."

"Like I was telling Tim, this is a thing for family. It was only right for both of you to be here. And besides, there's someone you should meet." He spots someone over her shoulder and waves a hand, though the press of people is enough that Tim can't immediately see who it is.

"Jason, are these the young ladies you told me about?"

Tim stiffens and very slowly turns to face his mother-in-law and queen. "Your majesty." They saw each other during the earlier ceremony, of course, but she quickly disappeared into the crowd of well-wishers after.

"O-oh!" Stephanie quickly lets Jason go, hurrying to bob a curtsy while motioning for Danger to do the same. "Queen Katherine, this is—I mean—I—"

"Please, call me Kate," the Red Queen says, smiling that smile that has always reminded Tim of nothing so much as the grins of some of the larger predators native to the Atlantis System. "We're practically family, after all."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.


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